


The Price of Peace

by StellarRequiem



Series: Another Time and Place [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I wrote this at 4:00 am, but sansan, feel like I'm recycling themes, forgiveness theme, more kissing, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:28:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarRequiem/pseuds/StellarRequiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of a series of minifics that about possible future encounters between Sansa and Sandor. Vignette style, minimal context, choose your own backstory . . . because you couldn't pay me to try and guess where ASOIAF is actually headed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Peace

He's staring at her, face a hair's breadth away from hers. _He's going to kiss me._ It terrifies her. Her heart flutters as flighty as the bird he's named her for. She's a woman married, she's kissed men before. Maybe she's kissed him before. But it terrifies her how close his mouth is, the proximity of the bellows of his chest, inhalations bringing boiled leather up to the wool of her dress before receding again on the exhale. She holds her own breath; holds her own chest perfectly still. Her neck feels like a pincushion. A chill raises the hair on her arms. _He's going to kiss me._

But he doesn't. He breathes, the sound half a growl, and shakes his head. Sansa's heart spills out in her chest cavity. It’s the strangest, bitterest kind of relief she's ever felt.

"Little bird," is all he says. There is sorrow in his eyes. She remembers the last time he said that to her, in that steel on stone tone, that same glint in his eyes in the dark. He'd left afterwards. Left her nothing but his cloak. A knight's cloak, though he'd never been a knight. She does the same thing she'd done then. Repeats it like a songbird mimicking a verse, exactly as he's always said she does. She repeats herself and hopes for a different outcome:

Sansa puts her hand on his face.

His jaw fills up her palm, fingertips falling short of his temple. He's so much bigger than her.

He begins to step away from her hand.

"Please don't leave," she says. Her fingertips chase him down, fitting against the raised pattern of old scars on his cheek. He stops moving, and eyes her sideways; eyes her like a cornered dog and snarls to march. The rage doesn't reach his eyes like it used to, but his responses are very much the same, and she supposes that it makes him easier to navigate despite the years that have passed. She is thankful for it.

"At least let me give you something before you go, if you do."

He eyes her, and it feels a more sidelong look than before though he hasn't moved his head.

"And what would that be?" he asks.

"A song," she replies. "You took one before, and it was not the one you wanted. But I did promise that I would give you one as well. Florian and jonquil, you said."

"I don't deserve your songs, little bird."

"Nor I your abuse," she retorts, "Though I have taken it anyway and been stronger for it. I remember what you told me, about knights and liars. I also remember trying to protect me from them, when you knew how. And I've never repaid you."

"Seven hells," he mutters, but loses the rest of the sentence to silence. She waits for more. Eventually, he adds "I took payment from you. I damn near took everything from you."

"And I've elected to forgive you."

Her hand is still on his face. His ruined face. She moves her thumb in a slow circle beneath his eye. Her skin, her little polished nails on long thin fingers, like her mother's, look mismatched against the raggedness of the old burn. She watches her thumb move while she sings in a fragile, quiet voice.

When she finishes, he reaches up, takes her hand, and pulls it away from her face. _He isn't going to kiss me._

Not anymore. Sansa is terrified.

"Sandor," she implores. It may be the first time she's ever used his name.  He shake his head at her again.

"Who taught you to pay a debt, girl?"

"The Lannisters, I imagine." the jest is dark and the bitterness of it surprises her as it leaves her mouth. He stares at her anew. She bows her head a little and looks at her hand hanging between them, her wrist still in his fingers. He w it for a moment.

"You don't pay them back tenfold," he growls, "seven, buggering--"

"I've done no such thing," she retorts before he can complete the swear. I've given you a song, like I promised. And gladly so--"

He interrupts her, gruff but nor cold. Too warm really. His tone is too warm.

"You’ve given me _peace_ , little bird."

She barely understands what he means, and stands there uselessly with her jaw half open. It's not becoming. They are both looking at their hands. Finally, she manages-without too much stuttering--to retort.

"Well, then it is you that owes me now my lord. If you can show me peace, please, I ask that you--"

Her words are silenced by the impact of her chest against his. He pulls her by his wrist, cups her entire head in his large hand, and seals her lips shut with his. Takes a kiss to make them even again in his mind, to put them back in positions that better suit their stations. To make his sin outweigh her forgiveness. When he releases her, she shakes her head, and smiles.

"Sandor," she tries his name again, "you would take another kiss from me?'

"I would, and I have."

"You haven't. You cannot take what is freely given. Be it forgiveness, kisses, or a song."

He chokes on his own growl. The last standoffish stiffness of his manner drains away. He simmers down from a boil in front of her, becoming more still than stillness itself, like a tree in the godswood. She watches him soften, and kisses him again. 


End file.
